


You Are My Sunshine

by My_Own_Infinity



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Desert Bluffs, Diego is Desert Bluffs Carlos, Hate Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Strex Kevin, Strex Family, Strex Takeover, Strexcorp, pre-reeducation Kevin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Own_Infinity/pseuds/My_Own_Infinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are my Sunshine,<br/>My only Sunshine.<br/>You make me happy<br/>When skies are gray.<br/>You'll never know, dear,<br/>How much I love you.<br/>Please don't take...<br/>My Sunshine...<br/>Away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whyistheskyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whyistheskyblue/gifts).



He didn't quite know how it happened.

Granted, he had been fantasizing about this for almost a year now, so he really shouldn't have been so surprised, but the past several months had been so _surreal;_ he couldn't quite make sense of how he had managed to get _here._ All of the meetings, the flowers, and the attempts at friendly conversation that had been met with glowers and curses; yet somehow he still ended up in bed with Desert Bluffs' radio host.

The broadcaster himself was asleep beside him, his chest moving steadily up and down as he snoozed through the early morning hours. One of his arms hung limply over the side of the bed. His mouth was hanging open, his black hair was mussed, his eyes were moving rapidly behind closed lids, and he was beautiful.

Diego checked his watch. _8:15._ Forty-five minutes until work. He hesitated getting out of bed, debating whether or not he should wake the radio host despite the fact that the man didn't have work until that evening. (Diego knew his schedule - the company had been keeping close tabs on this particular citizen.) If it had been anyone else laying beside him, Diego would have left without a second's thought. But this wasn't just anyone, and Diego didn't know what the protocol was when one's- tryst? No, he was more than a tryst. Lover? Closer, but the word implied more romance than what Diego believed was present in the radio host. Well, whatever he was, Diego had never before hesitated to leave the morning after. He had never wanted to stay.

Of course, concerns about after-intercourse etiquette was not the cause of Diego’s hesitation, though the executive was loath to admit it. No, the real reason that Diego was reluctant to wake the sleeping radio host was that he was _afraid._ He was afraid that he had imagined it - the gentleness of the radio host’s touches, the way his glare had finally started to soften when the man looked at him, his impassioned pleas and gasps and moans - all of it. He was afraid that the radio host would wake up and despise him again.

But what was the other option? Should he just leave without a word? Walk out the front door and pretend that nothing had happened? Simply go to work and try to forget the best night of his life? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.

Perhaps he could leave a note. People did that, didn’t they? Or would that be tasteless? He didn’t want the broadcaster thinking that Diego had simply used him for the sex. And there was no guarantee that Diego would ever be able to gather up the courage to speak to him again.

He checked his watch again. _8:30._ Fuck it, he didn’t have time for this. He took a deep breath and gently placed his hand on the sleeping radio host’s shoulder.

It was as though Diego had flipped a switch. The man’s dark brown eyes shot open and he sat up, shoving Diego off of him (minimal though their contact may have been) and pinning him to the bed.

“What the f- _agh!”_ The radio host’s knee jabbed into Diego’s abdomen, forcing the breath out of him. Before Diego had the chance to inhale, his attacker’s hands wrapped around his throat. “K- _Ke_ -!”

“What the _hell_ are you playing at?” the radio host hissed, pressing his knee harder against Diego’s stomach. Diego didn’t have the breath to respond. “Is this your version of a _game,_ Strex? Make me feel all nice and safe so you can catch me when my guard is down? Hoping to turn me into another one of your mindless _fucking_ zombies, huh? Well, guess what? It’s not going to work. So, you can go home and tell your _clones_ that your mission failed - that the people of Desert Bluffs don’t go down without a fight.” With a disgusted snarl, he released Diego, who laid sprawled on the bed, gasping for breath.

This was worse than Diego could have possibly imagined. Not only did the radio host still consider him one of the Enemy (which, Diego supposed, he was, but _still_ ), but the man actually thought that Diego had lured him into bed with the intent of kidnapping him. This was so, so _wrong._

“Fucking _hell,”_ Diego gasped, scrambling away from the hostile radio host and almost falling out of the bed. That man had one _hell_ of a grip. Under any other circumstances, Diego would have found that incredibly _hot;_ however, at that moment, Diego was slightly less than pleased. “I was...fucking... _waking you up._ ” His heartbeat had yet to return to normal. “Wasn’t...attacking... _Motherfucker...”_

The radio host remained ready to pounce, but his glare softened ever-so-slightly as he tilted his head, suspicious. "You were trying to... _what?_ Why? So I can start my day bright and early?" His tone was falsely cheery, and he had a sneer on his face. "Were you worried that I would sleep too much and miss out on all the _productivity?_ " When Diego, outraged, didn't respond, the radio host nudged Diego with his knee. "Come on, talk. What does Mr. Sunshine want from me?"

_I wanted to see you._ But Diego glared right back, his pride as bruised as his trachea. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, his voice scratchy from the abuse his throat had endured during both the radio host's attack and the previous night's activities. In a rush of fury, he snapped, "I didn't _force_ you to fuck me!"

The radio host paused, the rage quickly fading from those guarded brown eyes. He opened his mouth as though he was going to start yelling again, but then shut it, exhaling hard through his nose. Seducer or not, Diego had a point. Half of that night’s moans had, after all, been the broadcaster’s own.

After a moment of consideration, the radio host quietly said, "Get out."

Diego blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." The host's chapped lips were pressed into a thin line, his voice shaking with halting determination. "You don't want anything from me? Then why are you still here?"

Diego stared at him, speechless. "I...I..." But what could he say? _Because I've been watching you for months, listening to your show and waiting for the day you'd look at me without hatred in your eyes. I'm still here because you're the first man I've ever met who has made my heart pound the way it does when I see you, and I don't understand **why** , but I like it. I like **you.** I'm still here because I want you to see that I won’t hurt you._

But he didn’t say any of that. Diego Strex was many things, but _sentimental_ was not one of them. "Fine," he said. He started to get out of bed, and then paused. "...Where are my pants?"

The radio host flushed. “By the couch,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to his hands, which were fiddling with the bedsheets.

Diego nodded, struggling to remain impassive despite the fact that he felt as though his heart was being dragged down by an anvil. Somewhat awkwardly, he climbed out of the bed, shuffled to the living room, and picked up his pants from where, in his aroused preoccupation, he had thrown them the night before.

_Curse Desert Bluffs,_ he thought as he pulled the trousers over his sore legs. _Curse this entire fucking town, and **especially** curse that stupid, uppity radio host._

This internal abuse of Strexcorp’s latest acquisitions gave Diego a sort of comfort, and he was able to dress himself with as much pride and efficiency as a man in his situation could possibly have. The radio host had not come out of the bedroom.

_Thanks for the nice evening. Work hard._

_-Diego Strex_

Pleased with himself, he positioned the notepad so that it was laying dead-center on the table, and left the apartment without another word.

 

On each sheet of the notepad, in fine lettering, were the words, _“From the desk of Kevin R. Free.”_


	2. You Are My Sunshine

"This is a bad idea."

"Shut up, Divina."

"I mean it." Divina spared her twin brother a single concerned glance before turning back to her paperwork - some boring tax thing Diego hadn't bothered to inquire about. "Sleeping with the town's biggest dissident? There's no possible way this can end well - for either of you."

Diego was splayed out on one of the large, comfy chairs in his sister's office, twirling his golden gun in his right hand. "You're just jealous because I got to fuck him and you didn't."

Divina shot him a look. "That's not why."

"That is _so_ why."

For the first time since Diego entered her office, Divina set down her pen. "Do you see this?" she asked, motioning to the stacks of paper in front of her.

Diego raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"This is the company's annual report. Do you know what this last year's revenue was?"

"No."

"One hundred _billion_ dollars."

"Huh. That's impressive."

Divina's perfect eyebrows crinkled, and she pursed her lips. "Strexcorp is growing, Diego. We're already one of the top corporations in the world, and we're only going to get bigger. We _own_ several cities around the world, and we're beginning to work our way up to the national level - soon, we'll own entire countries. This little town is a blip on our radar. It's _nothing_. Desert Bluffs' government will soon be rendered obsolete, just like so many other governments before it, and any remaining dissidents will be crushed."

"Sounds like fun."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Nope."

Divina sighed, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her temple with two perfectly-manicured fingers. "Look, Diego. You're my brother, and I care about you. I don't want to see you hurt. There are dozens upon dozens of attractive men in this company; don't choose one who’s doomed."

"For Smiling God's sake, Divina," Diego said, recoiling as though his sister's affection physically burned him. "I said that I _fucked_ him, not that we're going to ride off into the fucking _sunset_ together." He hesitated, and then added, "Besides, even if I _did_ feel that way about him, he's not- I mean, he hates me." And there it was again - that strange clenching feeling in his chest, as though something was constricting his heart and lungs. He made a hollow attempt at a chuckle. "He kicked me out of his house when he woke up this morning."

The look Divina gave him was almost pitying. "Then _forget about him._ Find someone else to chase - _not_ anyone currently mine, please. Stop obsessing over his show every night. Move on. It hurts, but ultimately it's for the b-"

Divina was interrupted by the sound of exaggerated gagging noises.

"I got it, _I got it!_ Don't fuck the radio host. Fine, I won't. Just cut the 'sentimental sister' crap, okay? It's weird."

"Do whatever you want with _who_ ever you want," Divina said, having absolutely no illusions about whether or not Diego was actually going to keep his promise. "But when you end up with a broken heart, I am _going_ to say 'I told you so.'"

Diego stood up, laughed, and said, "For that to happen, little sister, I'd have to have a heart."

He exited the room to the sound of his sister angrily exclaiming, "You’re only older by _two minutes!"_

* * *

"I'm going to ask you one last time. _Where. Is. Ricardo?"_

"Why do you need to know?"

"It's- We have a meeting scheduled at noon today. Is my brother in his office?"

"Maybe."

Diego sighed. "Can you tell him I'm here?"

"Hmmm..." The woman at the desk in front of Ricardo's office made a show of thinking over his request. "No."

In the hour separating his conversation with his sister and his pre-scheduled meeting with his eldest brother, Diego had managed to stop by his on-grounds apartment, grab the past week's worth of designs and diagrams from where he had left them on his desk the day before, clean himself up a bit, and change into something suitable for a meeting with Strexcorp's CEO. Now, dressed in his usual pristine black suit and yellow tie, his beard trimmed and his hair flawless, he was finding the process of actually getting _into_ Ricardo's office far more difficult than he had anticipated.

"This is your _job_ , Cleopatra. You _must_ have 'meeting with Diego' written on his schedule _somewhere."_

Ricardo's secretary spared a cursory glance at her computer screen. "Nope. Nothing there."

It was then that it occurred to Diego that he didn't technically need the secretary's permission to enter Ricardo's office. He needed _Ricardo's_ permission, and it was Cleopatra's job to either get that permission for those brave souls who dared to speak with the CEO directly, or to announce the arrival of a visitor. For scheduled appointments, the latter was simply a courtesy, and not one that someone in Diego's position was entirely obligated to follow. So Diego - shooting a final glare at Cleopatra - turned away from Ricardo's desk and invited _himself_ into Ricardo's office.

"Diego!" Ricardo called jovially, pushing his chair back and walking around his desk in order to greet his brother with a pat on the back. "You're late." It was 12:02.

"Yes, your secretary refused to call me in." Diego allowed the smiling CEO to guide him to the single folding chair in front of the man's colossal oak desk, keeping a tight grip on his stack of diagrams.

Ricardo tilted his head. "What are you talking about? She told me ten minutes ago that you were here. I assumed you were dawdling."

"Is that so?" Diego murmured, busily engaged in a wonderful fantasy in which Cleopatra was drowning in acid. "That's not what she told me."

As Ricardo, chuckling, sat down in his own oversized chair, Diego was forcibly reminded just how big the CEO's office really was. This was on purpose, of course - the capacious nature of the room was designed to make the guest (and/or victim) feel insignificant in comparison. It was an excellent intimidation tactic. It certainly worked on Diego.

Still, this was business, and Diego was a businessman, so he tried to maintain his composure. He tried to ignore the way the chair pressed painfully into his back, making it impossible to find a comfortable position no matter how much he shifted in his seat. He tried not to shrink under his eldest brother's gaze, no matter how friendly it may have been.

Ricardo - handsome, snug, and radiating power in his own chair - gave Diego a sympathetic once-over. "Sorry about the chair. The CEO of our Eastern division was being... uncooperative, and I couldn't find a more comfortable seating arrangement in time for your visit."

Diego glanced to his left. "Your usual visitors' chair is less than ten feet to your right."

Ricardo followed Diego’s gaze to the red velvet (and significantly more comfortable) armchair, which had very obviously been placed temporarily beside his leather couch. Staring contemplatively at the chair, the CEO nodded. “Yeah...”

Diego stared at him.

Ricardo looked innocently back. “Christopher’s out on business in China.”

Diego raised his eyebrows.

Ricardo shrugged. “It was _heavy.”_

With a sigh, Diego stood up. “Would you like me to move the chair for you?”

“Could you? Oh, that’d be great,” Ricardo said as though that had _not_ been his objective this entire time.

When Diego had successfully positioned the armchair back in its rightful place in front of Ricardo’s desk, he sat down, not quite at ease but at least slightly more comfortable, and waited for Ricardo to give him the OK to begin.

Pleased, Ricardo leaned forward onto his elbows, clasping his hands together and grinning. “So! What incredible new breakthroughs do you have for me today, Diego?”

Diego couldn’t help but puff up a bit at the compliment. “Well, I wouldn’t call it a _breakthrough;_ it’s nothing more than a few sketches I drew up in my spare time.” As he spoke, Diego’s entire demeanor changed - he sat up taller in his chair, he looked his brother in the eyes, and his voice contained a note of confidence that hadn’t been there before. Biomechanics was his specialty, and finally being invited to talk about his own plans gave him newfound courage, even in such an intimidating setting. “After the third humanoid biomachine prototype failed, I realized that we were going about this process the wrong way. After all, this is new technology, and jumping from knowing nothing about how to create a functional biomachine straight to attempting to build a human was a bit overoptimistic.” He refrained from mentioning that he was the one attempting to create said humanoid biomachines. “We need to start small, fix the kinks in the programming, and work our way up to human designs.”

Ricardo nodded. “Fair.”

Eyes bright, barely able to contain his excitement, Diego laid the sheets of figures and symbols onto Ricardo’s desk. The CEO leaned forward and examined them with interest. “Small, animal-like biomachines no bigger than your average house cat, but with the potential to be absolutely lethal, these machines would be able to move, explore, and incapacitate dissenters immediately, saving us the trouble of having to track down rebels when the dispatch team doesn't get there in time to apprehend them.” He paused to let this information sink in. “Ideally, we’d require that all citizens own at least one of these machines.”

Ricardo pondered this, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “I see,” he said, scanning the diagrams thoughtfully. “Well, that’s certainly interesting. My only concern is with the tactical wisdom of forcing citizens to keep a lethal spy-machine in their homes. That extreme of an action against the city may be what turns mild distrust and unease into full-scale rebellion, and I want the company’s transition into power to be as smooth and bloodless as possible.”

Diego had expected that response, and he was already equipped with an answer. “Oh, we certainly wouldn’t market them as - what did you say - lethal spy machines? No no no, they’ll be pets. Pleasant, docile, adorable little friends for you and your children. They wouldn’t even be mandatory. At first. And then, slowly but surely, home will become a place of fear for those who may still hold doubts about Strexcorp’s power. The biomachine’s watchful eyes and razor teeth will be enough to turn even the most unproductive employee into a perfect model of Strexcorp’s values." The engineer smiled, allowing a bit of the pride he felt in his invention to show through his professional demeanor. “Or, if you still have your doubts, we can always use it as a _gift_ to employees who cause us trouble. Whichever works.”

When Diego finished speaking, the CEO let out a low whistle. “That,” he said, “is one of the most cruel, deplorable, and downright _evil_ things I’ve ever heard.” He grinned. “How soon can you get me a prototype?”

Diego met his eyes and grinned right back. “Without actually having to program it? I’d say tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

“Excellent. I’ll see if I can arrange some kind of promotional stunt by then, assuming you have enough information to run an advertisement for the product. Come back tomorrow at, say, three o’clock?”

“I think three works for my schedule, yes.” Diego stood. “Pleasure meeting with you, as always.”

Ricardo stood as well, an imposing figure even next to such overlarge furniture. “Same to you, Diego.”

After one final nod, Diego turned and exited Ricardo’s office, making sure to tip over the jar of pencils on Cleopatra’s desk on the way out.

* * *

Diego never thought that he’d be grateful for the existence of Christopher Rose, but the speed at which he was invited into Ricardo’s office the next afternoon was a relief after the Cleopatra fiasco.

Because his arms were occupied with carrying the extremely heavy biomachine prototype - which he had dubbed the Productivity Pet sometime around one o’clock that morning - the young engineer was attempting to open the doors to Ricardo’s office using only his elbows while Christopher watched him, the assistant's expression making it very clear that asking for help would be a wasted effort.

When Diego finally managed to get the door open, Christopher followed him into Ricardo's office, taking out his phone and leaning against the far wall while Diego dragged the prototype over to Ricardo's desk.

"I'm already sensing a problem with this design," the CEO said, smirking as Diego collapsed onto the floor next to his creation.

"I'll...work on...the weight," Diego gasped. It was the best he could do on twenty-four hours' notice, but it was certainly an issue - Diego had intended for the machine to be heavy, but it still needed to be transportable if they ever hoped to market it. "This Productivity Pet is... just a model."

Ricardo chuckled. "Yes, well, just don't mention the weight at the press release tonight."

 _That_ got Diego's attention. Quickly, he stood, all traces of exhaustion gone from his face. "Press release?" he asked, his heart sinking. "Spoken or written?"

"Spoken."

 _Damn._ Public speeches had never been Diego's strong suit. If he was going to give a speech, he preferred that it be at a small board meeting or a one-on-one interaction. It wasn't that he had stage fright - Diego simply found the level of formality required in public announcements to be tedious. Trying not to sound as though he was complaining, he glanced down to the floor and mumbled, "I would prefer it be written."

"And I'd prefer it be spoken!" Ricardo replied cheerfully. "Guess which one of us is going to win here?" The CEO evidently took Diego's defeated sigh as a sign of submission. "Exactly. So, I got you a spot on the Desert Bluffs Radio Show at nine tonight-"

Diego looked up so suddenly he cracked his neck. "The _what?"_

Surprised, Ricardo raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'the what?' I was under the impression that you  listened to the program almost nightly."

Diego didn't respond immediately - his mind had gone into a sort of shock. There was no possible way he could go back to that studio - not less than forty-eight hours after-

"Diego? Is there a problem?"

"Ah..." Diego struggled to come up with an appropriate answer. "The...radio host and I- we... we don't exactly... get along."

"Oh? Why is that?"

Diego blanched. "Erm- personal...disagreements," he said, regretting the words the instant they left his mouth.

There was a short silence, during which Ricardo impassively examined Diego.

"Diego," Ricardo said finally, his tone and expression solemn. "Did you fuck the radio host?"

"No!" Diego responded far too quickly. "No, I absolutely did not- That is very much _not_ what happened... I would _never!"_

From somewhere behind him, Christopher Rose snickered.

Ricardo sighed, shaking his head. "The sooner we get word out about this product, the better our sales will be when it's completed. This is more important than your sex issues."

Diego flushed. "We did _not-"_

Ricardo held up a hand, silencing him. "Whether you did or didn't doesn't matter," he said. "Because no matter what, you will be on that radio program tonight at seven o'clock sharp."

"Nine o'clock, sir," Christopher offered from the back of the room.

"Nine o'clock? Nine o'clock. Sharp." He fixed Diego with a stern look. "Now, any other questions, comments, concerns? No? Good. Tell me how it goes!" The CEO waved his hand in what was unmistakably a dismissal.

Defeated, Diego turned to leave the room when Ricardo called, "And one more thing!" 

"Yes?"

"Don't call it the Productivity Pet."

"But- Fine.  _Fine._ Can I go?"

"Yes, I think that just about covers it."

"Fantastic."

The instant the door clicked shut, Ricardo turned to Christoper. "He  _totally_ fucked the radio host."

Christopher nodded. "Totally, sir."

Grinning, Ricardo leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "Oh, this is going to be  _great."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Divina belongs to [mistress-strex.](http://mistress-strex.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Ricardo Belongs to [strexcorpsguardian.](http://strexcorpsguardian.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Christopher can be found [here,](http://christopherrose-pa.tumblr.com/) and Cleopatra [here!](http://cleopatrathesecretary.tumblr.com/)


	3. My Only Sunshine

Five hours after his meeting with Ricardo, Diego stepped into the small radio studio, trying to be as invisible as possible. This did not appear to work - he was approached almost immediately by a young woman with a clipboard. "Mr. Vega?" she asked, pulling the pencil out from behind her ear.

"One of them, yes," Diego answered distractedly, scanning the hall for signs of the radio host. To Diego's relief, Kevin appeared to be elsewhere.

"Nice to meet you! I'm intern Maria." She held out her hand. Diego didn't take it. Unperturbed, she continued: "It's my job to get you situated in time for the show. It looks like you came a bit early - would you like a tour of the studio?"

Oh, that was a thought. "Take me wherever Mr. Free _isn't."_

He didn't know if rumors of his and Kevin's _escapades_ had spread among Kevin's staff, or if Kevin was such an unpleasant man that visitors frequently wanted to avoid the radio host, but either way, the intern did not look the least bit surprised that Diego wasn't keen on meeting Kevin until showtime.

"Okay," said Maria. "Mr. Free will be in his studio right now, so I can take you to the employee breakroom."

"That would be fantastic," Diego said, relieved. He followed her down the short, narrow hallway and into a plain, beige room containing only a brown table, some wooden chairs that were easily older than a decade, a coffee maker (which was presumably once white, but which was now a dull brown color), and a microwave. "Nice place," he commented, taking a seat at the table.

Maria shrugged. "Funding's low." Had Diego imagined it, or was her tone just slightly accusatory?

 

Diego spent the next half hour on his phone, checking stock prices and reading articles on the world's most recent technological innovations - some of them his own. At 8:45, Maria peeked her head into the room to inform him that his interview was about to start. "You might want to head on in," she said. "The traffic segment is always pre-recorded, so you and Mr. Free will have time to go over questions before you go live."

Diego stood up and followed her to the studio. It felt more like he was walking to the gallows.

Maria brought him to the door of the recording booth, where the flickering _On Air_ sign hung like a proclamation of doom. "' _Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,_ '" Diego muttered. Maria knocked twice and pushed the door open.

"Mr. Free," Maria said cheerfully, "Mr. Vega is here for his interview."

"Send him in." The voice was so familiar it _hurt_.

Diego inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, and slowly, slowly stepped into the studio.

Kevin was sitting at his booth, his black headphones hanging around his neck, his hair sticking up in the places where he had evidently run his hands while thinking, and his black dress shirt untucked and wrinkled. And again, despite everything that had happened over the past two days, he was the most beautiful thing Diego had ever seen.

At first, his back was to Diego, but he turned around when he heard the creak of the door-

...And promptly froze in place, gaping at Diego.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Opened it again. Blinked rapidly. Finally choked out, " _...You."_

Not quite knowing what else to do, Diego waved. "Hey."

"Wh- What are you-?" Kevin spluttered, seeming to come back to himself for a moment before turning back to his desk and frantically sifting through what Diego assumed were the evening's broadcast notes. "The- The letter said that I would be interviewing a _Mr. Vega-"_

"Yes, that would be me," Diego said, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Behind him, he heard Maria flee the room, shutting the door behind her with an ominous _click._ "Diego _Vega._ I _do_ have a last name, you know."

The initial shock of Diego presence seemed to fade, the fire slowly returning to Kevin's eyes. His expression twisted into one of disdain.  " _Really?_ Your corporate overlords let you have _names?_ Golly, that's _so_ nice! I mean, yeah, they strip you of your entire identity and capacity for free will, but at least the important ones get to keep their _names!"_

This was almost easier, Diego reflected, slipping easily back into the familiar banter that had (until two days ago) characterized his relationship with the radio host (minus the flirtation on Diego's part). If Kevin was going to act like nothing ever happened between them, then that was alright with Diego - _this_ was a game he could play.

_"My_ corporate overlords?" Diego asked, crossing the room and settling into the chair beside Kevin. "Mr. Free, I don't _have_ corporate overlords. In fact, I am _your_ corporate overlord, so mind you show me respect if _you_ want to keep _your_ name." Granted, this was not technically true - Diego _did_ have a corporate overlord, but since that overlord happened to be his older brother, Diego didn't have to answer to many people. And Kevin clearly didn't fully understand Strexcorp's hierarchy, so he figured he was safe.

Scowling, Kevin shoved a pair of headphones - identical to his own - at Diego. "Put these on," he said. "I'm going to ask you questions. You're going to answer them. And then you're going to leave, and I'm never going to see you again. Got it?"

Diego sneered. "Sounds wonderful. When do I go live?"

By way of response, Kevin placed his headphones over his ears and held up three fingers (Diego couldn't help but remember the other, _better_ uses to which Kevin could put those fingers), two fingers, one finger...

"Next, we have a very... _special_ guest here with us tonight, listeners - a representative by our oh-so-benevolent sponsors, Strexcorp Synernists, Incorporated! It says here that he's here to discuss one of his newest inventions. Funny, listeners! I didn't know that our _generous_ sponsors did anything besides subjugate and kill innocent people!"

Diego's lip curled. "I moonlight as an engineer," he sneered.

The cheer in Kevin's tone stood in stark contrast to the look of utter disgust he was giving Diego. "Of course you do. So, Mr. _Engineer_ , what soulless invention do you have for us today?"

Furious, gazing into those piercing brown eyes - all three of them, for Diego now realized that the eye on Kevin's forehead was wide open and glaring at him with the same intensity as the other two - Diego momentarily forgot that he was in the middle of a broadcast. "My name," he said quietly, "is Diego. Not that you don't already know - as I recall, you seemed to enjoy _saying_ it."

Kevin's eyes flashed - literally, in the case of his third eye, which began to glow a deep purple - but he seemed at a loss for words. Diego felt a hint of accomplishment that he was able to shock the radio host into silence. _He_ was able to rile Kevin up on air-

_On air._ Right. Shit. Giving the still-speechless Kevin a smirk, he turned back to the microphone and - making sure to sound _extra_ calm and collected - said, "Strexcorp Synernists, Inc. has observed that regular pets are so... _messy._ They require feeding, cleaning, and multitudes of other inconveniences that make it nearly impossible to be productive. Strexcorp's new Prod- er, _Strex_ Pet gives you all the love and care of a regular pet without the mess. It doesn't need to be cleaned or exercised, and it can feed itself without any prompting from its owner. It is truly the ideal household animal.”

There. Direct, concise, and vague enough to allow Diego some room for creativity when he actually got around to programming the damn thing. It also smoothly redirected the conversation away from his little remark about Kevin's bedroom habits.

"How... interesting," Kevin said. All three eyes were glowering at Diego, and the radio host's lip was curled. "I'd ask you how big they are, but knowing you, you'll just make something up to make it sound more impressive than it really is."

"As of this moment, the machines are less than a foot l- _ah..._ " Diego suddenly realized what Kevin meant. "You- um." He bit down on the protest before it left his mouth - the damage was done, and telling the entire city that he was sufficiently endowed was not going to help anything.

"Because, you know," Kevin continued relentlessly, "it's always good to know about a product before you invest in it. I'm sure my listeners would agree! For example, does it run on batteries? Is it rechargeable? How long does it last? Longer than you, I hope."

Diego feverently prayed to the Smiling God that his family wasn't listening to this. Seething, he leaned towards Kevin (whose smirk was somehow worse than his glare) and said, in a low voice, "Oh, it lasts a _good_ while. And when we release them, _you_ are going to have the honor of being our very first _product tester_ , Mr. Free."

Well, that at least wiped the smirk off of the radio host's face. "Do it," he murmured, meeting Diego's eyes, "and it will be dead within a week."

"Oh?" Now it was Diego's turn to smile. "What's the matter? Scared of a Strex Pet? Why? It isn't designed to harm you. I'm sure you'll have _fun_ together. You'll be able to talk to it, and play with it, and cuddle it when you get lonely in your cold, empty bed at night."

The word's hadn't fully left Diego's mouth before Kevin stood so quickly that it yanked his headset off of his head and sent it clattering to the floor. He didn't seem to notice. "Get out." His eyes were _glowing_ purple, and... was Diego imagining it, or was there something... _moving_ beneath Kevin's shirt?

The lights flickered, and Diego's headphones filled with static. Alarmed, Diego ripped off his headset and stood up, preparing to put at much distance between himself and the radio host as he possibly could. It was then that he realized that there hadn't been any feedback coming from his headphones - the _walls themselves_ were whispering, the words indistinguishable but definitely there. As Diego, terrified, stumbled backwards, Kevin advanced, the disembodied voices rising in pitch and volume as he grew steadily closer to Diego. "Get _out,"_ he hissed again. "And I swear, if I _ever_ see you again, I am going to _kill you."_

In that moment, as he watched _things_ creep out from under Kevin's shirt collar and sleeves, the light of Kevin's glowing eyes making the narrow, writhing shapes cast ominous shadows on the dark walls, Diego believed him.

Thinking of nothing but his own self-preservation, Diego fled.

* * *

Four miles away, sitting at his desk and listening to to the sound of Diego's fleeing footsteps through his radio’s speakers, Ricardo was hunched over his desk, shaking with uncontained glee. "This is the best idea I have _ever had,"_ he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Sir, should we send someone to... rescue him?" Christopher Rose asked reluctantly. Diego was an ass, but death meant paperwork, and Christopher _hated_ paperwork.

Ricardo shook his head. "He got out in time. Probably. Diego's a big boy; he can handle himself."

Christopher shrugged. "Oh, the secret service called. Cheney needs to be sent in for reeducation."

" _Again?"_ Ricardo sighed. "Why we hired that man is beyond me. Next time, make sure the VP has a sense of humor."

"Will do, sir."

Smiling, Ricardo flicked off the radio. " _'More impressive than it really is,'_ " he chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, that's _great."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ricardo Belongs to [strexcorpsguardian.](http://strexcorpsguardian.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Christopher can be found [here,](http://christopherrose-pa.tumblr.com/)


	4. You Make Me Happy

It wouldn’t stop.

It had been ten days since the disastrous radio show, and Kevin Free was still making disparaging comments about Diego’s penis. Diego had known that Kevin’s show was popular, but he hadn’t truly understood just how _many_ people listened to it until he tried to venture out in public after the ‘incident.’

“What, exactly, is so funny?” he had asked the pockmarked youth behind the counter of his favorite shoe store, who snickered when he requested a pair of size 8 loafers.

“Nothing, sir,” the boy responded. “Just– are you sure you don’t want a size smaller? From what I’ve heard, a size eight might be a little bit too big for-”

Diego stormed out of the store, scowling, his gun still smoking in his hand.

He was also finding it more and more difficult to speak to his siblings, most of whom, Diego discovered, were now listening to Kevin’s program on a nightly basis.

“I mean, I’m actually not all that surprised,” Santiago said as Diego sat at the dinner table, fuming. “Really, when you think about it, it explains _so much_ of his personality.”

“Exactly,” Ricardo added. “Think about it – he shot a kid for making a joke. Doesn’t that seem just a _little bit_ defensive?”

“I am _right here._ ”

He had hoped that Kevin’s vengeful comments would die down if Diego gave it time, but it didn’t look as though that was going to be the case. Ten days was too long to be unable to walk down the streets of his _own city_ without people snickering at him as he passed. This had to stop. Immediately. And, short of ordering a hit on the man, Diego could think of only one sure option that didn’t require his siblings’ involvement.

If he wanted this done, he would have to do it himself. 

* * *

 

It had been dark (and he had been horny and somewhat inebriated) the last time Diego drove to Kevin’s apartment, but he still managed to find the building with ease. He let the car idle outside of the building’s parking lot and took a moment to rest his elbows on the steering wheel, running his hands through his hair. This was a bad idea. He _knew_ it was a bad idea. What was he thinking? There were half a dozen other ways of stopping the broadcasts that didn’t involve direct confrontation (or assassination). He could get one of his interns to call and issue a warning – surely the radio host didn’t consider this worth his life. He could swallow his pride and ask Ricardo to shut down the show entirely. He could try to have Kevin reeducated. There was absolutely no good reason to speak with Kevin directly. So why, why, _why_ was he _here?_

He shut off the ignition.

_This is stupid,_ he thought as he pushed through the doors to the apartment building. _I’m going to regret this,_ he thought as he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the sixteenth floor. _I should just turn around and go home,_ he thought as he knocked on Kevin’s door.

There was the _click_ of a lock being turned. Another click. Another. The door opened.

“What do you- Oh, _fuck_ no!”

Diego got the barest glimpse of Kevin’s face before the door slammed shut again. Without thinking, he turned the handle and threw himself against the door. He managed to get it open a crack, and he jammed his foot between the door and its frame before the radio host could close it again. This had the unanticipated consequence of causing the full weight of the door to land on his foot. _“Fuck!”_ It hurt like hell, but hadn’t heard a crack – his foot was probably just bruised. That was fine. His priority was getting into Kevin’s apartment. Adrenaline now pulsing through his body from the injury in his foot, Diego gave the door one final shove and was delighted to feel it fling open.

The apartment was exactly as he remembered it – which was unsurprising, considering that it had barely been a fortnight since he last laid eyes on it. The worn couch cushions sagged in the middle, the result of years of use; the coffee table still held the notepad on which Diego had left his little message during his last visit, but the note itself was gone; a shift from stained carpet to stained tile was the only thing marking the transition from the kitchen to the living room; past that, three separate doors led to the bedroom, the bathroom, and the closet respectively. The entire apartment was under 450 square feet.

“What the hell do you want?”

Diego couldn’t locate the source of the voice until he realized that it was coming from _below_ him. He looked down, surprised – he hadn’t realized that the force with which he had shoved the door was enough to knock the radio host to the floor. But there he was, glowering – as always – at Diego. But there was something different about his glare this time – his eyes were wider, and his lips were pressed together rather than curled into his customary snarl.

Kevin, Diego realized, was _afraid._

“What do you _want?”_ the radio host repeated. When Diego took a step forward, Kevin’s leg twitched in an instinctual urge to scramble away.

“To talk.” Diego took another step forward, and then another, until he was less than a foot away from Kevin. He stopped. Kevin seemed frozen in place, staring at Diego with wary, unblinking eyes. Diego very purposefully stepped over him and crossed over to the couch. He took a seat, praying that his smile would conceal his nerves. “Just to talk.”

Kevin appeared to struggle with himself for a moment. “Don’t you Strex bastards have goons for that?”

Diego raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“‘Talking.’” Kevin still had not moved from his spot on the floor.

“Oh, I’m not here on business.” Slowly, Diego relaxed, the tension draining from his shoulders. Why was he worried? He was _Diego._ He was one of the most powerful men in the world. This little _radio host_ couldn’t lay a finger on him. Diego was Kevin’s superior, and he was going to start acting like it. “My reason for coming here is a bit more… _personal.”_

There was no possible way that Kevin didn’t know what Diego was talking about, but he still said, “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Kevin wanted to play games? Too fucking bad. Diego wasn’t interested. “Stop talking about me on your radio show,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“What? But I can’t do that!” Kevin’s face was the picture of innocence as he looked at Diego. “Strexcorp gives me the reports – I just read them. If you want me to stop mentioning you on air, you’ll have to talk to your PR department.”

Sitting there with his gun weighing heavily in his jacket, Diego thought about how easy it would be to shoot Kevin. Not to _kill,_ obviously – the fact that the man was still alive meant that he was valuable to Ricardo. Somewhere nonlethal, like his leg, or his shoulder.

He didn’t, of course, but it was a nice fantasy.

“Don’t fuck with me, Kevin. I’m coming to you on friendly terms. Refuse to cooperate, and you’ll find that my terms will grow decisively _less_ friendly.”

To Diego’s surprised, Kevin stiffened, his eyes widening as he sucked in a breath. “Doesn’t look like your terms are very friendly to begin with."

It took Diego a moment to realize what Kevin was talking about. Oftentimes, when he was seeking information from a reluctant party, Diego found the presence of a weapon to be an excellent motivator. It was such a favorite method of his that the act of withdrawing his Desert Eagle the instant he encountered resistance was an unconscious one. He had, it seemed, been pointing his gun at the radio host since the thought first entered his mind.

He backpedaled. “I can’t leave my _house,_ Mr. Free. This is as friendly as my terms are going to get.”

“Okay.” Diego was pleased to note the alarm in Kevin’s voice. “Christ, okay, I’ll stop. Just put the gun away and leave.”

“Excellent.” Diego smiled, stood up, and holstered his gun, giving every outward sign of satisfaction with the results of their meeting. Inwardly, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was _wrong._ “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Free. If I hear anything else, I’ll come back. And you won’t like that.”

Kevin curled his lip, baring his teeth, and the smallest of shivers ran up Diego’s spine. There was no denying it – he wanted Kevin. He wanted to fuck that sneer right off of his face, to hear the radio host crying out his name in that beautiful voice of his–

“Any other requests, Strex, or can you get the fuck out of my house?”

Diego surfaced from his fantasy, flushing. What the hell was he _thinking?_ Falling into bed with Kevin had been a… fluke. A result of alcohol and loneliness, nothing more. It wasn’t as though he had actual  _feelings_ for the man – no, that would be ridiculous, not to mention pointless, considering how the radio host wanted him dead.

Suddenly, Diego realized what had been bothering him. “You promised to kill me,” he said. “At the radio station – you told me that you would kill me if you ever saw me again.”

The radio host’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“And…” Diego gestured to himself in a grand, sweeping motion. “Here I am.”

For the first time since they met, Kevin wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s your point?”

_Could it be?_ Diego couldn’t allow himself to think it. Not after their last disastrous… confrontation. Diego was a scientist – his actions were ruled by logic, not base impulses. He wasn’t going to let his desire – fervent as it was – cloud his judgement.

But still, he had to wonder…

“Why didn’t you kill me the instant you sensed a threat?” he asked, taking two careful steps forward. Kevin tracked the movement without looking up, his eyes glued to Diego’s loafers. “You were more than capable of it, but you made no attempt to attack. Why?”

“You were pointing a gun at my head.”

“Well, I’m not now.”

“Do you _want_ me to kill you?”

_He’s not answering the question._ Scientist or not, the rate of one’s pulse is generally out of one’s control. It couldn’t be helped if Diego’s happened to increase. “I didn’t say that; I was simply wondering why I’m not currently lying dead on the floor.” 

The radio host, now noticeably agitated, began to fidget. He bit his lip as he tugged on his left forefinger with his right hand. His eyes had not left Diego’s shoes.

“Well?” Diego prompted.

After an obvious inner struggle, Kevin mumbled, “I don’t know.” It seemed to be an honest answer.

For inconsequential, purely biological reasons, Diego’s breathing picked up pace. “May I venture a hypothesis?” he asked, his voice somewhat more eager than he would have preferred. Feeling a little bold, he began to walk in a slow circle around Kevin, watching him carefully. All prodding aside, he had no desire to _actually_ be attacked by the radio host.

Fortunately, Kevin’s only reaction was a slight increase of tension in his shoulders. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me no matter what my answer is, so go ahead.”

Having completed one full circle around the radio host, Diego slowed to a stop behind him. “You liked it.”

“Liked what?” Kevin asked, but there was a certain hesitation in his question that encouraged Diego to press onward.

“You know.” Diego didn’t crouch down – that would, he thought, be venturing a bit too far into the realm of _seduction,_ which was very obviously not what Diego was doing. (What he _was_ doing, he didn’t know, but it certainly was not an attempt at seduction. That would be ridiculous.) He did, however, take a step closer to Kevin, and said, “You. Me. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, have you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Kevin’s finger was starting to turn purple from lack of circulation.

“Of course you do. We’ve already established that you can’t stop talking about my dick on air. I wonder how much thought you’ve been giving it here, in the privacy of your own home?” As Diego spoke, he realized that what he was saying was true. And he allowed himself to entertain the possibility that Kevin wanted him, too.

“I think you should go.” Kevin’s voice was strained, but he didn’t deny Diego’s assertion, so Diego ignored him. Almost of its own will, his hand reached out and carded through Kevin’s shaggy hair, grabbing a handful by his temple and tugging, just gently. “Don’t pretend it wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had.” Somehow Diego had moved close enough that the radio host’s head could rest against Diego’s knee. Kevin made no attempt to pull away.

“You’re full of shit, you know that, Strex?”

“Why don’t you stand up? We can go to the bed. Or the couch. Or I could fuck you here, on the floor.” Diego was a scientist, but that didn’t have to mean that he could _never_ fall prey to his baser instincts.

“Who said I’d let you fuck me?”

Ooh, that wasn’t a _no._ “You can fuck _me_ ,if you’d like,” Diego offered. The engineer rarely – if ever – allowed other men to so much as top, but the last time had been… pleasant. And if that was the price of getting Kevin into bed, then Diego was more than willing to pay it.

There was a long, long silence. And then: “Let go of my hair and we’ll talk.”

Gleefully, Diego released Kevin’s hair and let him stand. _This_ was why he came – not to talk to the radio host, not even to get him to stop attempting to ruin his reputation. He came for _Kevin_ – to hear his sweet voice, to feel his soft hands around him again.

The instant the radio host was standing upright, Diego pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

 

Kevin shoved him into bed, ripping off the engineer’s coat and unbuttoning his dress shirt in a frenzy that could only come from weeks of pent-up sexual energy. He managed to get Diego entirely topless before coming up for air, and Diego used those few seconds of visibility to unbutton Kevin’s pants and squeeze his crotch. The radio host hissed out a breath, his nostrils flaring as he looked at Diego through half-lidded eyes. Then, without any warning, he grabbed Diego’s tie (which he had conveniently forgotten to remove) and _yanked._ “If we’re going to do this,” Kevin growled, “we do it by my rules.”

Holy _shit._

“And what rules would those be?” Diego asked, trying not to sound as though the radio host’s forcefulness was affecting him in any way. (It _certainly_ had nothing to do with the noticeable tenting in Diego’s trousers. Ridiculous.)

Kevin released the tie, speaking calmly – if a bit huskily – over the engineer’s gasping breaths. “One: I top.”

“Done.” At that point, Diego wouldn’t want it any other way. “Anything else?”

“Not off the top of my head, but I’m sure I’ll think of more as we go along,” Kevin said, climbing onto the bed and straddling Diego. “So, it follows that you do what I say.” The radio host must have known that that would be a harder condition for Diego to follow, for he stopped once he had situated himself on top of Diego, waiting for confirmation that he should continue.

The question was, of course, whether Diego would give it.

On one hand, Kevin hated him. Diego knew that, even if he was starting to have his doubts about the extent of that hatred. After all, Kevin hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, had he? There was a (admittedly slim) possibility that there was some softness for Diego in Kevin’s heart. There was obviously desire, but attraction was different than affection, and Diego wasn’t sure that putting himself at the mercy of a man who, during their last encounter, had threatened to _kill him_ was a wise idea.

On the other hand, _hell_ if that wasn’t sexy.

“To a reasonable point, I agree,” Diego allowed, “but forgive me if I’m a bit wary of letting you render me _completely_ defenseless. I reserve the right to stop you if I sense that your intentions are less than kind. Fair?” The radio host didn’t respond, but he shifted his weight so that his tailbone was rubbing against Diego’s cock, so Diego assumed that Kevin found his answer satisfactory. Kevin leaned forward until he was lying on top of Diego, and Diego ground his hips against Kevin’s crotch as the radio host nipped at his throat. Diego waited until the bulge in Kevin’s pants was large enough before adding, “I want one more thing.” He could feel Kevin’s annoyed sigh against his throat.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be attaching conditions to this.”

“Oh, I think I’m in _every_ position to be attaching conditions, _dearest._ ” To prove his point, he gave Kevin’s ass a tight pinch. (When his hands got there, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t objecting.)

Kevin slapped his hand away. “Do I have to teach you to keep your hands to yourself?”

_Please do._ “I want to stay the night.”

“Fine.”

_"And_ you have to promise not to kick me out of your house in the morning.” Kevin hesitated. “Or you can spend another long, lonely night jacking off to mediocre porn and the memory of _this._ ” Fiendishly, he slapped Kevin’s ass hard enough to make him jump. Kevin’s eyes flashed.

“You don’t know how to follow directions very well, do you?” But there was something else in his eyes now, a certain _determination_ that made Diego shiver. “Fine. Stay the morning. But I’m going to spend the night making you regret it.”

“I look forward to it.” _Victory._ Diego let his head fall back onto the mattress, smugly shimmying out of his dress pants, delighting in the way the cool air blew against his cock through the thin fabric of his briefs.

The sensation was short-lived – Diego had only a few seconds to enjoy it before Kevin was yanking his tie again, this time pulling him completely off of the bed and onto the floor. He tumbled to the ground, coughing. For a moment, he worried that Kevin was about to kick him out of the apartment despite his promises, but the radio host wasn’t even looking at him. In fact, the man was busy removing his own trousers, and his boxers to boot. “Here’s the deal, Strex,” Kevin said, his voice detached and businesslike as Diego – horny and speechless, clad only in white briefs and a wrinkled tie – slowly stood up, watching him. “You’re a big, bad CEO, right? You’re used to getting your way? It looks like you’ve gotten a little spoiled.” Kevin, now completely naked from the waist down, turned so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his knees spread wide and his feet planted firmly on the floor. He looked Diego in the eyes, and although he spoke with a satisfied confidence, he was not smiling. “You’re going to get down on your knees, right now, and suck me off. If I cum in your mouth, you swallow. Try anything, and we’ll see how _you_ like mediocre porn. Got it?”

Diego got it, alright; he just didn’t particularly _like_ it. Oh, the sight of Kevin sitting there exposed in front of him, lidded eyes silently beckoning him closer, was certainly a pleasant one, and Diego would normally have been more than willing to oblige him. The executive’s objection was to the order itself – for it was, undeniably, an order, and one that Diego knew he was expected to follow without complaint. And Diego didn’t _do_ orders.

But then, what was the other option? He had every reason to believe that Kevin would hold to his threat of leaving Diego to finish himself if Diego refused. And Diego wasn’t willing to let that happen. So, swallowing what little remained of his pride, Diego kneeled between Kevin’s legs, making a point of fixing his eyes on the radio host’s cock instead of meeting his self-satisfied gaze. “Do you have any special requests, or do you want me to surprise you?” Diego asked, determined to preserve whatever control he had left.

“I like surprises.” Kevin leaned back luxuriously, finally smiling. His grin was impish as he spread his legs wider to give Diego more room to do his work. “Well?” He wiggled his hips. “Come on, Mr. CEO. What are you waiting for?”

“I’m not the CEO,” Diego said, and took Kevin into his mouth.

“Does it look like I ca _aaaaah-!”_ Kevin bucked his hips involuntarily, and Diego chuckled, bobbing deeper and deeper down Kevin’s length without prelude. If Kevin wanted a blowjob, he would _get_ a blowjob. Diego wasn’t going to bother to tease.

When Diego felt the tip of Kevin’s cock hit the back of his throat, he pulled back, letting the entirety of the length slide out of his mouth. “Satisfactory?” he asked, his voice rough.

Alright, maybe he’d tease a _little._

Kevin stared at him, wide-eyed and panting. “Are you trying to choke on it?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

_"Fuck_ no.”

Diego shrugged and kissed the tip, and then a bit lower, and then lower, until his lips were brushing against the base of Kevin’s cock.

“Nn- _fuck,_ stop that!”

So, Diego did. He lifted his head – slowly, letting his tongue slide from the base to the tip. Teasing, he decided, sounded like a very good idea after all. “Yes?”

Kevin seemed quite at a loss for words. “You- um. Fuck, you w–” He cleared his throat. “You wanna get this done today?”

In response, Diego wrapped his lips around the head of Kevin’s penis, sucking lightly before pulling away with a loud _pop._ “No, as a matter of fact. I think I’d quite enjoy dragging this out until tomorrow. Unless, of course, you want to make it a _rule_ that I _have_ to finish you as quickly as possible. But really, where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m making it a rule that you can’t be a bastard about it.”

“Fair enough.” He licked up Kevin’s cock again.

_“Jesus Christ._ J-Just go back to what you were doing before.”

“Is that a _rule?”_

“You are one snarky comment away from mediocre porn, Strex.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that to _me.”_ But Diego did as Kevin asked, if only because he wanted to hear Kevin’s retort trail off into a series of incoherent moans again. He brought his lips to the base, and then back up – but not all the way. Instead he let his head slide up and down, up and down, establishing a slow, smooth rhythm in time with the rise and fall of Kevin’s hips as the radio host desperately tried to keep as much of himself in Diego’s mouth as possible. Eventually, Diego stopped moving his head entirely and just let Kevin fuck his mouth while the executive himself remained stationary, listening to the radio host’s gasps and jumbled please for more, oh _fuck_ , more…  

Kevin came with a cry, and when the rush of bitter fluid hit Diego’s throat, he swallowed every drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Santiago belongs to [strexecutioner.](http://strexecutioner.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Ricardo Belongs to [strexcorpsguardian.](http://strexcorpsguardian.tumblr.com/)


	5. When Skies Are Grey

Diego awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon.

After the initial sense of disorientation that always accompanies waking up in someone else’s bed passed, Diego – still drowsy from lack of sleep – sat up, stretched, cracked his neck, and looked around the empty room. _Kevin’s_ room. And that delicious smell wafting from the kitchen was presumably Kevin cooking breakfast for the both of them. The thought was so delightful that he laughed out loud.

Grinning stupidly, Diego climbed out of bed, stretched, and checked his watch. _7:38_. Plenty of time.

Grabbing the dress pants and shirt he had so carelessly discarded the night before, Diego began to whistle an old lullaby one of his nannies used to sing. ‘You Are My Sunlight,’ or something like that. He picked up his underwear, considered it, and then tossed it into the pile of unnecessary layers of clothing he wore to Kevin’s apartment. Upon buttoning his shirt, he realized that he was still wearing his tie, which was now wrinkled and twisted a bit out of shape by the abuse it had endured last night – Kevin had not been gentle. However, rather than mourning the loss of one of his favorite (and most expensive) ties, Diego’s heart soared. The tie was easily replaceable. Kevin was not. It had died a worthy death.

It wasn’t until Diego had dressed, mussed his hair _just_ right, and dabbed on a bit of the expensive cologne he kept in his suit pocket for emergencies that he noticed the change in the smell of the apartment. Instead of the crisp, delicious smell of frying bacon, the air was sour and had acquired a greyish tint.

“Kevin?” Diego called, a hint of worry burrowing its way into his chest. There was a crash and a string of curse words from the kitchen, and Diego – after one final glance in the mirror – rushed out of the bedroom to see what was the matter.

What he found was a distraught-looking Kevin staring helplessly at a frying pan that was engulfed in foot-high flames.

Immediately, Diego leapt into action. “Where do you keep your baking ingredients?” he asked. He crossed the kitchen and began opening Kevin’s few cabinets and cupboards, grabbing a glass lid and setting it on the counter within reach of the stove.

Kevin remained where he was, looking at the flames with glazed eyes. “My what?” he mumbled.

“Your baking ingredients! Salt, baking soda – I need to suffocate this fire!”

It seemed to take Kevin a moment to process what Diego had said. “Salt is in there.” He pointed to the one cupboard Diego hadn’t checked, which happened to be the cupboard closest to the burning stove. Fortunately, Kevin had an almost empty roll of paper towels by his sink. Using the remainder of the roll to protect his hand from the cabinet’s metal handle, Diego grabbed the (blessedly untouched) cylinder of salt, tore off the protective seal over the spout, and dumped its entire contents onto the pan. It didn’t completely kill the flames, but it got them low enough that Diego could slap the lid on top, smothering the rest. He turned off the stove.

“Why salt?” Kevin asked after a moment’s silence. He was still staring at the place the flames once were with a distant look in his eyes.

“It prevents the fire from getting oxygen. What the hell were you _doing?_ I’ve never seen bacon light on fire like that.”

Kevin looked at him now, and his expression was a bit sheepish. “It didn’t. I guess I overcooked it, because one of the pieces caught on fire, and I panicked and I, um,” he rubbed his neck, “I put a towel over it.”

Diego glanced at the pan, and sure enough, he could just barely make out a piece of charred fabric peeking out from under the lid. He sighed. “That’s not how you put out a kitchen fire.”

“I figured that out pretty quickly, funnily enough.”

Diego snickered. “How do you live alone and not know how to cook _bacon?_ ”

Kevin grabbed the pan, set it in the sink, and turned on the faucet. “I make microwave dinners or eat out.”

“On a radio host’s salary?”

“I scrape by.”

“And you’re _how_ old?”

Kevin shot him a look. “It was a recent lifestyle change. Now, how about you get out of the kitchen and let me clean this up?”

“Ah, yes, because you’re _obviously_ so competent in the kitchen.” Diego suspected that that would have been the point at which Kevin threw a rag at his head, but alas.

Still, he did as Kevin asked and walked the five feet to the living room, where he took the opportunity to study Kevin’s possessions in the hopes of finding out a little bit more about the mysterious radio host. One glance around the room would have told him that this would not be a long or hard task – the room wasn’t large enough to hold much more than a table, a couch, and a small, wooden bookshelf, the top of which held the television (which was collecting dust – understandably, considering how all channels in Desert Bluffs now played nothing but Strexcorp propaganda). The only personal possessions that could have possibly been of any interest to Diego were Kevin’s books.

Even if the room had been packed with personal possessions, the books would have caught Diego’s eye – in such a tiny, dingy apartment with all of its worn furniture, the lowest compartment of the bookshelf was immaculate. The books were arranged tallest-to-shortest, the spines were without marks or tears, and there was not a speck of dust to be seen. Clearly, Kevin cared deeply about the contents of this shelf – the man didn’t treat his own body with such reverence.

Intrigued, Diego picked a book at random and pulled it off of the shelf. It was a dull red color, and although it had obviously been treated with the same care as the rest of the books, this one had an air of fragility about it, as though the next attempt to open it could be the last of hundreds. Diego flipped the book over to examine the cover. The title read: 毛主席语录, which would have meant nothing to him had it not been placed under a faded picture of Mao Zedong.

“You can get food at work, right?” Kevin asked as he walked out of the “kitchen” with a trash bag in his hands. “I’m not keeping you from eating breakfast, am– what are you doing?”

Diego was flipping through the red book, trying to find evidence that it was not what he thought it was. (His task was somewhat hindered by the fact that the entire book was written in Mandarin Chinese.) Wordlessly, he held up the book for Kevin to see.

Kevin blinked at it. “Oh. That.”

“Not that it would make your possession of this book any less illegal, but for the sake of my own peace of mind, _please_ tell me that this is a highly disapproving biography of the Chinese government and not the complete written works of Mao Zedong.”

It was with an outrageous amount of nonchalance that Kevin said, “You can tell yourself that, if you want.”

“Kevin.”

“It's not the _complete_ written works.”

_“Kevin.”_

“What?”

“Why do you own this... this... _highly illegal_ _trash?”_

Kevin frowned. “It's not _trash._ If you actually take the time to objectively evaluate his ideas and values, you'll find that a majority of them are completely valid.”

Diego gaped at him.

“People like to shit on communism, but really, it's the ideal system to use in small communities.”

Diego, who had never in his life met anyone who considered communism to be anything but the most vile system on earth, spent a few moments processing what Kevin was saying. Surely, Kevin was joking. He had to be. It wasn't as though–

“Smiling God, I just fucked a _communist._ ”

Kevin looked affronted. “There is _nothing wrong_ with communism on a small scale! It would certainly be better for this town than _your_ corporate dictatorship.”

This was a disaster. The radio host objecting to his loss of freedom was one thing, but objecting to capitalism in favor of communism? Diego had thought that Kevin was smarter than that.

“Nothing wrong with communism? Have you taken a glance at any communist country since the idea’s conception? You want to talk _dictatorships,_ Mr. Free? Say what you’d like about capitalism, but America has kept a thriving economic and governmental system in place for nearly three hundred years.”

“If you’re trying to use the United States as an example of a successful capitalist system, I have some bad news for you,” Kevin said, his lip curled in a sneer. He set the trash bag down and took several steps closer to Diego. “America, first of all, isn’t wholly capitalist – it applies both capitalist and socialist policies in different areas of government. And even then, the current U.S. system is so flawed that using it as an example is hurting your argument more than it’s helping it.” Tugging on his fingers in what Diego was starting to take as a sign of agitation, Kevin’s voice held the same eager, fiery passion that it did in the beginning of the city’s takeover, before Strexcorp bought the radio station and bullied Kevin into silence. “Secondly, I never once implied that communism has ever been successful on a mass scale. All I’ve ever said is that Desert Bluffs was well on its way to being a thriving community with a small-scale communist system before your precious Strexcorp came in and fucked it all up.”

Dozens of rebuttals danced on Diego’s tongue, but he bit them back. Silly little debates over _theories_ and _ethics_ had never interested him. In the end, it didn’t matter who was right, only who had the power to make what they believed law. And in this case, the winner was Strexcorp.

“The difference between you and I, I think,” Diego said, placing the book back on the small shelf and dusting off his trousers, “is that you place so much value in justice and ideals that you allow reality to pass you by. You and I can spend all day arguing about the applications of communism, but the fact of the matter is that Strexcorp has won, and thus, the economic system of this city is Strexcorp’s decision whether you like it or not.”

Perhaps that was a bit much – Kevin was giving Diego a scornful look that suggested that he was about to kick Diego out of the apartment again. (Which, Diego had to admit, was a rather flattering expression on him. He made a mental note to provoke Kevin more often.)

“It’s eight o’clock. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

There it was. Damn. “In half an hour, yes.” In an attempt to distract Kevin from their spat, Diego let his voice drop to a purr, giving Kevin his most charming smile. He had come so far already – he wasn’t about to let one small clash of ideals ruin the morning. “But I can afford to be a bit late. Let me at least buy you breakfast before I go.”

Kevin was not to be budged. “With the money you obtained through brainwashing and subjugation? No, thank you.”

“Don’t be silly.” Diego was starting to lose patience now. “That money isn’t going to be magically returned to the impoverished masses simply because you turned down breakfast. Let me spend fifty dollars on you as a thank-you gift for such a wonderful evening.” His last few words, spiced with a hint of seduction, slipped smoothly from his mouth and across the three feet of space between the two men, whereupon they did absolutely nothing to lessen the rapidly growing fury in Kevin’s eyes.

“By accepting your ‘thank you gift,’ I’ll be indirectly profiting off of the servitude of my friends and neighbors, making me no better than the people I’m trying to overthrow.”

“Oh, and fucking me doesn’t?”

The three foot gap quickly turned into a one foot gap when Kevin took a step forward, glowering down at Diego. “That was– That’s– That’s _different._ ”

“Is it _really?_ How so? Tell me,” Diego said, irked by the reminder of the significant height difference between them. Not in the mood to be domineered by the radio host, Diego squared his shoulders and looked Kevin in the eye, subtly trying to make himself as tall as possible.

Diego watched the radio host open and close his mouth for a few seconds, patiently waiting for Kevin’s explanation as to why fucking Diego wasn’t any different than eating with him. When no such explanation came, Diego continued: “You dislike feeling as though you’re surrendering. I understand. Really, I do. Nobody enjoys losing. But this… futile stubbornness is only going to cause you pain in the long-run.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me,” Kevin spat.

Diego raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “I’m not trying to patronize you, Kevin – this is a warning. You’re a cunning, outspoken, charismatic man – all of the things Strexcorp values in an employee. You could go far in this company.” Seeing the look on Kevin’s face, Diego quickly added, “Or, you can continue to be a relatively neutral party for as long as Strexcorp allows it. Whichever works best. But for Smiling God’s sake, stop trying to fight a battle you’ve already lost.”

“I’ll stop when I’m _dead.”_

“Or when Strexcorp decides that you’re too much of a nuisance to be left to your own devices and takes you in for reeducation.”

The reminder that there were legitimate consequences for insubordination beyond vague threats of death seemed to dampen Kevin’s rage. The room fell into sour silence.

Rather than allow himself to be bothered by this sudden change in atmosphere, Diego made himself at home on Kevin’s couch, intrigued by the sensation of the seam of his pants rubbing against his crotch as he stretched out his legs. Kevin glowered at him. Diego smiled back.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” Kevin asked. He was, Diego noted, wearing the same wrinkled, black button-down that he had stubbornly refused to remove the night before, citing a bad rash that he didn’t want to aggravate. Idly, Diego wondered just how many ill-fitting, black button-downs Kevin owned. Had he ever seen Kevin in anything else? He made a mental note to buy Kevin a nice, yellow polo shirt. It would definitely look good on him.

“Hmm?” he inquired lazily, stretching his arms behind his head.

“I don’t have any decent food, I’m not letting you take me out to eat, and you have work in– what, fifteen minutes? What are you still doing here?”

            Diego quirked an eyebrow, gazing at Kevin from under half-lidded eyes. “Why, I’m enjoying your company, of course. You’re so _pleasant_ in the morning.”

            Kevin considered him for a moment, most likely trying to gauge whether or not Diego was being sarcastic. Whatever his conclusion, it at least seemed to make him less irritable. Arms crossed, he examined Diego with the particular calculating gleam in his eye that Diego had come to learn (very thoroughly the night before) meant that Kevin was plotting something.

“Is whatever you have to do in fifteen minutes important?”

Was it? Diego vaguely remembered that it was some sort of meeting. Finance? Probably finance. That meant that the meeting was likely to consist of Divina and a few other, lesser representatives from foreign branches. Important, but not overly so. “I can text my assistant and tell her to reschedule,” he decided. Divina wouldn’t be happy, but she would get over it. At that moment, whatever Kevin was planning was of far more interest to Diego.

“Great,” Kevin said, and pinned him to the couch in a crushing kiss.

“ _Mmph–!_ ” Caught off-guard by this unexpected turn of the events, Diego didn’t start returning the kiss until Kevin was straddling him. “Kevin, what–?”

“Better call that intern now, Strex. Unless you decided you want to leave.”

“Hell no.” Diego’s head was spinning, and although he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he couldn’t decipher why Kevin suddenly went from wanting to punch Diego in the teeth to wanting to run his tongue across them. However, it was rather hard to ponder this (or anything, really) when Kevin was grinding against his crotch, so he decided to postpone unravelling the enigma that was Kevin until he could think coherently.

Said enigma ran his hands down Diego’s torso until he located the square lump that was Diego’s phone, slid his hand over another lump that was _not_ Diego’s phone, and grinned lasciviously. Diego shivered, fighting the urge to pull his gaze from Kevin’s and let his eyes fall shut, as Kevin’s hand crawled into Diego’s pants pocket, pulled out Diego’s phone, and placed it in his right hand. “Text fast,” he breathed, blowing the sour scent of coffee and morning breath against Diego’s lips.

“I can multitask,” Diego responded. He tilted his chin slightly upward in invitation, exposing his neck.

“Swell.”

As Kevin nipped at Diego’s throat, the executive tapped out a short message to his intern. _Fantastic._ Satisfied, he sent the message and settled down to enjoy his morning with Kevin, marveling at how he always seemed to get exactly what he wanted.

* * *

Diego had just finished adjusting his new, clean tie when the door to his office burst open.

_“Where the **hell** were you?” _ a familiar voice screeched.

“Hello, Divina,” Diego said calmly without turning around. He could see his outraged sister behind him in the mirror, but he could hardly bring himself to care. His euphoria hadn’t faded since he left Kevin’s house, bidding the radio host a fond farewell and promising to call him soon – whether he gave Diego his phone number or not. (He did, eventually, with some prodding.) Now, dressed in a clean, black suit, Diego felt refreshed and satisfied. Divina could be as angry as she liked; she wasn’t going to ruin his good mood.

“I stalled the Chinese ambassador for _three hours,_ waiting for you to show up, before I finally told him that we would have to reschedule.”

“Really? Three hours? That sounds tedious.” Flashing himself a grin in the mirror – _Smiling God, he was attractive_ – Diego spun around to face his sister. “Didn’t Rachel give you my message? I told her to tell you that I’d be a bit late.”

“The meeting was supposed to happen over two hours ago – that is not _‘_ a _bit_ ’ late! And what do you mean you texted Rachel? Isn’t that the one you–” Divina abruptly stopped talking, her gaze landing on Diego’s tie and traveling down – and then back up – his body. “You _asshole,”_ she whispered, her fury somehow more potent in the quiet hiss than it was in her earlier shouting.

Diego took a few stumbling steps back against the mirror. It was rare to see Divina this angry, and while his previous claim that his sister was not going to ruin his mood was still true, he also wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of one of his sister’s wrathful outbursts. “What? What did I do?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, with no warning, Divina descended upon him in a flurry of fists and nails. “You _ass! You absolute **prick!** I cannot **believe** you!” _

_“Agh-!”_ Diego cried, raising his hands and arms to protect his face. A well-manicured nail scraped his arm, and he yelped. _“_ Ow! Divina, s- _stop that!_ What did I _do?”_

Blessedly, Divina paused her attack, pulling away and clenching her hands into angry fists at her sides. For a moment, it looked as though she was about to start hitting him with her purse, but it turned out that she was only switching the bag from her left shoulder to her right. “That is your _sex suit,”_ she spat. “I _humiliated_ myself in front of the Chinese ambassador while you were off… off…”

Perhaps it was the slight grimace that gave it away, or maybe it was the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. But understanding dawned on Divina’s face as her sentence trailed off into silence, like the calm before the storm.

And then, quietly: “Diego, tell me you weren’t with the radio host.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Diego said, “I wasn’t with the radio host.”

“You _motherfucker.”_

“I only went to his house to scare him out of making any more comments about me on his show; I honestly don’t know what happened.”

“You are _insufferable.”_

Diego shrugged. “I’m lonely, Divina. I want someone who is both attractive and capable of holding an intelligent conversation, and I happen to have found that in Kevin.” He adjusted his suit sleeves for no other reason than to give his hands something to do.

Divina looked wholly unimpressed. “And how much _talking_ have the two of you done, exactly?”

She had a point, but hell if Diego was going to admit it. “Enough,” he said, remembering the heated political debate the two of them had had that morning, and how attractive Kevin looked when he was angry. “I truly believe he’ll be a valuable asset to this company once he gives up his silly little dream of independence.”

With a sigh, Divina set her purse down on Diego’s desk and began rifling through it. “Like I said, Diego: do what you want, but don’t come crying to me when you end up with a broken heart.”

“And _I_ told _you_ that a heart can’t break if it doesn’t exist in the first place.” Diego grinned at the poorly-concealed look of exasperation on his sister’s face as she pulled a yellow file from her bag.

“We – no, sorry, _you_ – have another problem.” Divina held out the file for Diego to take. “These were delivered to me by accident. The information is confidential, so I figured I should deliver them to you personally instead of leaving them on your desk, since you don’t have an assistant to take care of your files for you.”

That last remark was a bit accusatory, but Diego accepted the file, frowning as he flipped it open and scanned the pages inside. “What do you mean I don’t have an assistant? I hired Rachel weeks ago.”

The look Divina gave him was beyond disgusted. “You shot her yesterday, remember? It took hours to get the blood off of the walls.”

Ah, yes. Now he remembered. Rachel – who was apparently an avid listener of Kevin’s show – had made the mistake of quoting a particularly unflattering remark about Diego’s anatomy within earshot of the executive. It had been the final straw – the last of a long series of offensive jokes – and without really thinking about what he was doing, Diego had whipped out his pistol and shot his ex-assistant in the head. And then several other places. Overkill was delightfully cathartic.

“I suppose I should promote another intern, then,” Diego muttered, mostly to himself.

_“I_ suppose you should stop being so trigger-happy before we run _out_ of interns.” There was none of his sister’s usual exasperated playfulness in her voice this time. “And if you can’t do that, at least tell your security team to stop following your example – we can’t afford any more murder scandals when we’re this close to securing our power over the city.”

“Pardon me?” Thoughts of paperwork and former assistants dissipated from Diego’s mind at once. “What the hell are you talking about? My security team consists of some of the best shooters in the world – I hand-picked them myself. They would be the last people to cause a scandal.”

Divina gave him a flat stare. “We _all_ know they’re the best shooters in the world, Diego – that’s one of the reasons we’re in this mess. Two months ago, a member of your security team shot and killed a rebel who was scheduled to be brought in for reeducation. She was supposed to play a key role in suppressing the rebellion against Strexcorp, and now she’s dead because _your_ security team operates on the principle of: ‘Shoot first, ask questions later.’”

“What?” Diego looked from the Divina to the papers, appalled. He had the utmost respect for every person on his security team – he couldn’t imagine a single one of them intentionally disregarding orders simply because it inconvenienced them. Granted, he had recently hired three new officers, and rookies always tended to be a bit overzealous, but _murder?_  Smiling God, these were Strexcorp security officers, not regular American police officers – they couldn’t go around shooting people on a whim. (And yes, Diego was aware that he, too, was prone to outbursts of deadly violence, but he was also always careful to choose victims who wouldn’t be missed, so as to not cause unnecessary harm to the company’s reputation.) “When was this? Three months ago? Why wasn’t I informed of this sooner?” And then, angrily: “Why were you informed before I was?”

“No one told me; I read the incident report. The paperwork had to go through a few additional procedures since the _victim–_ ” she placed biting emphasis on the word “–was so vital to the company’s plans.” Divina nodded to the file in Diego’s hand. “That’s for you. Your mess, your paperwork. And since your assistant is on ‘permanent leave’ – which, by the way, means _another_ incident report – it looks like you’ll have to record all the necessary documentation yourself. Congratulations.”

Diego recoiled from the venom in her voice. This wasn’t just about the meeting, he realized – Divina was truly angry. His preoccupation with Kevin Free was affecting not only his performance but also that of his employees. A _murder._ What a bother.

Still, Diego couldn’t handle this directly without acknowledging outright that the officer responsible was under his care, thereby admitting fault. He would talk to his head of security and leave it up to her to reprimand the officer, Diego decided. After all, it was her job to keep the rookies in line, and this kind of negligence was simply unacceptable.

The most immediate of Diego’s problems, however, was Divina. Diego had fucked up big time, and it was well within Divina’s right to report him to Ricardo. (His brother probably already knew about the incident, but he also likely didn’t realize the scope or cause of Diego’s recent decline in productivity, and Diego wasn’t interested in having that brought to his attention.) The best thing to do that this point was to apologize to his sister, admit he was wrong, and ask her for forgiveness and help.

Instead, he said, “I’ll take care of it,” because Diego had never been a man who admitted to his mistakes, and he wasn’t about to start now. “This won’t happen again, believe me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Divina grumbled. But the flash of affection in her voice let Diego know that his unspoken apology had been accepted. “You know, one of these days, Ricardo’s going to get you a PA you can’t kill.”

“Of course, Divina.”

Divina’s hand slid across the strap of her purse, but she hesitated in picking it up, obviously chewing on another bit of criticism she wanted to give before she left. Diego braced himself.

“You know I love you, right?”

Diego blinked, surprised. “Yes,” he said, unsure of what else to say. “I love you too.”

“And I only get on your case because I care.”

_Oh, Smiling God, anything but this._ “Yes, Divina. I understand.” He placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to gently guide her out of the room.

Divina allowed him to lead her towards the door, but she didn’t stop talking. “And I wouldn’t bother you about Kevin if it wasn’t important.”

“Absolutely.”

She stopped at the door and gave Diego the crinkly-eyed look of sympathy that always made him want to gag. Her lips pressed into a thin, red line, and she sighed. “Just… make good decisions, okay?”

“Always.”

Divina slipped out the door, and Diego closed it tightly behind her.

For a few moments, Diego kept his hands and head pressed against the door, lost in thought. “Well, there goes my good mood,” he muttered to himself.

Kevin was a problem. A distraction. A threat to productivity and to the company as a whole. And, like all other threats, he would eventually need to be eliminated.

_I’ll stop when I’m dead._

_Or when Strexcorp decides that you’re too much of a nuisance to be left to your own devices and takes you in for reeducation._

            Diego had meant it as a petty threat – a way to wipe that infuriating sneer off of the radio host’s face – but now he pondered its truth. Unless Kevin stopped fighting (which, as much as Diego liked to deny it, wasn’t likely), Strexcorp was left with two options: kill him or reeducate him. And Diego knew Kevin well enough to know that the radio host would fight Strexcorp security to the death before he allowed them to take him in for reeducation.

            Diego decided that the topic was too unpleasant to ponder at that moment. He’d figure something out eventually, some way to convince Kevin to join Strexcorp willingly and reduce the damages of reeducation. He was sure of it.

            More pressingly, there was the matter of the murdered rebel to attend to. Diego crossed to his desk and picked up the incident report. It was larger than any other incident report he had ever seen, likely due – as Divina had said – to the importance of the deceased. _Fucking brilliant._ He idly wondered why the company needed her so badly. Not that it was his concern – she was dead, he was legally responsible, and now he had a stack of tedious paperwork to fill out along with all of his other duties as Executive of Biomechanics. He just had to fill out the paperwork and get her case handled.

            He made a token effort to glance through the documents. Most of the victim’s personal information was buried deeper in the file, but the second page contained a blurry picture of the rebel – a young woman in a hijab. _Vanessa Khorshid,_ her name read. She didn’t look much older than Diego. Pity.

            He tossed the file into his top desk drawer. Whatever. He’d deal with it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I had a crazy summer. 
> 
> Divina belongs to [mistress-strex.](http://mistress-strex.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Diego belongs to [videntefernandez.](http://videntefernandez.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Like this fic? Randomly found it while searching Ao3? Want some context? You can find me [here!](http://themoreyoustrex.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Roleplay not your thing, but you still love Welcome to Night Vale? My cecilos blog is [here,](http://wearereadyforwar.tumblr.com/) for all of your Gay Nerd needs.


End file.
